


The Memories That Define Him

by Marquis_de_LargeBaguette



Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: Anterograde Amnesia, Comfort No Hurt, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8997490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquis_de_LargeBaguette/pseuds/Marquis_de_LargeBaguette
Summary: Will has trouble remembering what happened. He has trouble remembering who he is, or where he is and he wakes up everyday on a bed that he isn't familiar with, with a man he doesn't recognize sitting beside him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing is edited.

The rays of sunlight from the rising sun passes through the thin curtains and into the dark room. As fluffy clouds pass overhead of the bright blue sky, birds chirp as their wings cut through air, gliding past houses and trees. Here is another day to remember, but Will doesn't remember anything at all. His eyes open, shuffling his position on the mattress of the bed he lays on. Instead of going back to sleep, he jolts up. A room he doesn't recognize, that's where he is. His eyes scan the room for something near the sense of familiarity to hold onto. There's a red, white and blue sweater hung on the back of the bedroom door where the hanger stays clung onto the wood. It's a nice arrange of colours, and he notices the cargo pants that's hung just beside it. A pair of red converse is messily kicked off in the middle of the room, as if rushed to get them off. The shoelaces are untied and splay on the carpet floor. But Will notices that these aren't his things. In fact, he's beginning to wonder where his clothes are. He looks down, and he's wearing a red and white baseball shirt. His pants are blue and white, consisting of a flannel pattern. He's thoroughly confused, and it only gets worse when he turns his head.

There's a man sitting on a chair. His legs are crossed, and so are his arms. His head is tilted down, and he looks to be asleep. It's difficult to tell, with his long black hair covering most of his face. It's a silky kind of black, and there's a red streak in a few strands of his hair as well. He isn't even wearing his pajamas. He has a leather jacket on, instead, with a dirtied red t-shirt under it. His jeans are ripped, but it looked intentional. He has shoes on instead of slippers, unlike Will who's just in his bare feet that's been covered by the thick blankets. But it still doesn't answer his floating question as to where he is.  _Who_ is he, anyways? 

Beside him on the bed is a lump. When he pressed his fingers against it, it's stone hard. He uncovered it, only to discover a brown leathered book that was engraved with his name on it. 

_**William 'Will' Theodore Stronghold.** _

So his name was Will. He'll go by Will anyways. His name seemed too long. He flipped open the covering page, and found his way through the first page. There's a date on the top right corner, and a bunch of scribbles. A form of handwriting he can't make out. This is unfamiliar to him, and he can't help but feel like he's snooping into someone's diary, despite his name being on the journal.

**May 14**

_I thought a journal would be a good start for Will. For you, Will. Reading this. Your name is William 'Will' Theodore Stronghold. Your third generation of the two greatest superheroes alive. My name is Warren Peace. I'm the guy sitting next to you every morning, asleep, clad in leather, mostly. I don't have time to explain everything everyday in the morning, so you'll find this beside you on your bed when I'm still asleep. You have anterograde amnesia after an accident with my father when he escaped prison - details that aren't important. He's back in prison, but left you with a trauma to the head. You might not remember much from that day. Or the day after. Yesterday, even. So it's important you write in this everyday from here on out. This will be your guide to your life. You have a couple of other friends that come over now and again. Every Saturdays and Sundays at noon for lunch._

_Layla Williams was your best friend since childhood. You might remember her. She usually has two long ponytails._

_Zach also seemed to be your childhood friend. He's the guy with the yellow._

_Ethan's the dork with the glasses._

_Magenta's the purple one._

The names seem something of ease to Will as he tries to remember who they are, but nothing could ever appear in his mind. They were simply unknown. But Warren - he's seen him before. He knows it. He doesn't know where. Maybe in his dreams, or in a nightmare. He's there. Just a presence. He continues reading.

_Your mother and father is Josie and Steve Stronghold. They're worried. But you shouldn't. You'll be fine._

_We all went to Sky High together. It was a faculty for powered teenagers like you and me and everyone else. You had a girlfriend named Gwen Grayson who pacified everyone with the Pacifier and you jumped in to save the day while also unknowingly made friends with me. You went out with Layla until senior year and separated during college. You were my annoying roommate for the rest of the year. Then we started dating and now we're here._

Will couldn't imagine reading this everyday, knowing the man beside him had something to lose every morning. The page that Will's fingers ran across was crumpled up a little and dried, as if Warren, who wrote this, let tears slip by and let it dry on the parchment. Or maybe he could imagine, but he just had no solid memory of it.

    _Your memory gets worse everyday. Then it gets better. Your progress is wavering and I don't know what to do. I'm not sure anymore._

He doesn't know what to do either, and he wishes he did.

 Will froze when he saw Warren shift. He doesn't know why he suddenly tensed. What would he be afraid of? The disappointment he has to display to Warren that he hasn't recovered? Or even remember anything at all? Maybe. But they're here, and Will is awake, listening to the birds chirp as the morning gets a little more busier now. Warren opens his eyes and tilts his head up, shaking off the drowsy feeling. Then his eyes meet with Will's, and he could see a spark of flame flicker for a second. He can't tell if it was hope or a knowing look that everything is going to restart and happen again. The questions that Will will ask today is going to be the same as yesterday, and the day before that. And the week before. Everything will be the same, and he can feel sorrow disperse itself into the air around them. They both breathe it in, but Warren is more prone to ignoring it than Will is. It's just another day restarted, but each day is something a little different. But not much.

 _"Good morning.",_ he hears Warren say, even in his soft tone. He looked intimidating, but his features are soft. He looked no older than Will is, and his hair is down to his shoulders. It looked like he got a haircut recently. 

Will attempts to smile, but he's not sure he can do it.

_"Good morning."_

They both know there's nothing to discuss. Will already read the journal, but is still silently questioning what this day holds, and Warren knows the gear that's grinding in his brains. It's the same everyday. Warren stands up from his chair. Will doesn't understand how he could sleep in that every night, nor does he know the purpose. But he must've sat there a lot. The slightest movement from him made a small creaking sound, as if it were to break any time soon, but in general, it looked sturdy. Will took this as a sign to slid out of bed, and so he did. Throwing the covers off of him and hopping to the ground. 

 _"Is it - Warren Peace, right?",_ he asks almost sheepishly. He feels foolish. He should know this, but he doesn't. Warren grabs the red, white and blue sweater from the hanger, and the cargo pants, handing it over to Will. So those clothes were his.

 _"Yes."_  

It was a simple answer, and Will didn't need to say anything else. He was just confirming. He turned around to change while Warren waited outside. This was not his home. He knows his home. From his childhood. This atmosphere wasn't the one from his days as a child, so his only assumption was that he moved in with Warren. They were a couple now, after dating a girl named Layla Williams. Maybe he has a vague memory of it. It's just a feeling though. An empty hole in his mind that can't be filled in. It pokes at him, urging him to know what happened, even when he has all the information with him in a journal that he's supposedly been writing down in everyday. When he was done changing his clothes, he met out the door with Warren, and he was led to the living room. It was nothing spectacular. It looked like a normal living room with a black couch in front of a TV that's been screwed into the wall. A round coffee table is set in front of it and everything else looks organized.

 _"Layla is coming over today.",_ Warren prompts. He's holding Will's hand tight, and he finds comfort in it. 

_"What day is it today?"_

Will realizes these days work like clockwork. Everyday, Will has to wake up and read the journal. They don't speak of anything, but pretend like it's a normal day where Will has his memories of his friends. Of Layla, of what happened. Like they've moved on with their lives for another day, but Will knows in reality - Warren is too scared to face Will and his amnesia. He doesn't look Will in the eye, and only once when he needs to confirm that he's there. He figures, after weeks and possibly months, he's numb inside, and he's hurting himself by this fantasy. Will knows, and he's just as scared as he is.

 _"Sunday. Tomorrow is just you and me.",_ he says  _tomorrow_ almost strained. Like he doesn't want the day to end. He doesn't want to lay fast asleep, for the birds to fall silent or the sun to suddenly disappear to another side of the earth. He's on the edge of his breaking point, to have to deal with this everyday.

Will smiles.

_"I can't wait."_

While Will looks at Warren, he doesn't catch his gaze. His eyes fixated on the floor with a neutral expression. There's something there that tells Will he's in pain and is suffering in silence. They both don't say anything for a while. Warren leads him to the kitchen and they both make breakfast. Will looks out the window. They're surrounded by other buildings, and it's a nice view. He cherishes this while he cans, occasionally glancing at the man who concentrates on cooking. He uses a flicker of flame from his fingertip instead of turning on the stove to heat his eggs. He has to remind himself that he's a superhero. Will has powers too. It doesn't matter what they are anymore, he's not going to use them. He might have it recorded somewhere in his journal... but it would never come of use to him.

He still has a lot of questions that needs to be answered.

 


End file.
